


What Makes a Monster/What Makes a Man

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baskerville Research Facility, Bloodplay, Canon Divergence - The Hounds of Baskerville, Daddy Kink, Kidnapped John, Light Bondage, M/M, Monster Moriarty, Mycroft Being a Bastard, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rimming, johniarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: John Watson was done with this whole HOUNDS nonsense after Sherlock's little game, let alone before he's captured by a very deadly, and very familiar, creature in the dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



> Happy National Boyfriend Day, Johnny<3

Walking alone on the moors was more of a problem than John had originally anticipated. He thought investigating on his own, while Sherlock and Lestrade investigated the noises and monsters on their own, would be fine. Army Captain with a gun, what could go wrong? 

This, apparently. 

Something snuck up on him, struck him on the back of his skull and dragged him to this place, which he discovered to be a cave by the smell and sound of it. His breath fogged the air, body chilled in the damp clinging to his bared torso. 

His arms were bound above his head in some sort of crude rope, still able to stand on the ground so he wasn’t suffocating. He wondered, briefly, if that was going to be a pro or a con in this situation, depending on who the fuck had him and why. Why the fuck did people kidnap him all the time? 

The moonlight glinted off the wet walls, and the puddles in the mud, but it didn’t give him that big of a sense of depth. He cleared his throat, his mouth tasting like ash, and took a breath to call for help.

Something stirred in the corner before he could. His breath left him altogether, looking around for whatever might be lurking. The cave wasn’t the cave in brief flashes of desert. Heat. Stinking, steaming canvas flapping in the sand, sweat rather than chill clinging to his body but that same fear stuck in the back of his throat like hot, rotting molasses, impossible to be rid of, impossible not to feel that weight all the way in his stomach. Tense air in either case, bound in either case, completely naked only in one and waiting for pain for terror. For a hot muzzle of a gun to be pressed into  his temple, his mouth, screaming voices, knives, begging, begging as loud as he could not to kill him, not to kill any of them-- 

Something shifted in the tent-- no, the dark. Something moved and he watched it happen. The two black pools with the tiny shimmer of light he assumed to be part of the cave wall moved. And got closer. 

He tensed, leaning back against the wall as much as he could. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

The thing moving closer to him, the shadow creeping into something like light and becoming more defined, it made a sound. An inhuman rattle coming in short bursts, repeatedly. 

John frowned. “...Are...are you laughing? Sherlock, I swear to fuck if this is you I’ll fucking--” 

The creature shrieked in agitation, slamming an icy hand over his mouth to silence him, claws digging into his cheek. John swallowed, closing his eyes briefly, regaining himself. 

He looked again, at this pale, snarling thing with black, black eyes, and sharp teeth behind its lips. Its breath came in heaves, plumes like dragon smoke coming through its nostrils and teeth. Black curls hung in front of high, arched brows-- 

His expression cleared. Moriarty. Or...or what used to be Moriarty. The jawline was the same, strong, defined, stubbled, the lips pulled back over the fangs overriding his mouth with that same full pink. His eyes had hardly changed at all and now that John could think clearly, he realized the creature’s skin smelled familiar too. 

_ “Pull that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, and we both go up.”  _  His face had practically been in his neck. He was so close he could feel the warmth radiating off his pale throat, smell his cologne, his aftershave and that heinously intoxicating scent that was his soft, smooth skin. 

Moriarty frowned at him, seeing something change in him, something that became more relaxed simply because of the familiarity. His clawed hand slipped from his mouth, one talon remaining on his lower lip like a reminder. John could have laughed, watching him regard him the same way he had when he trussed him up in that bloody bomb. 

“M-Moriarty?” He whispered. The creature hissed. “M-Moriarty, do you remember me? It, it’s- Moriarty it’s me, it’s-” The Spider growled, cocking his head and cracking its neck. John swallowed, panic settling in again, trying to catch him before all humanity left his vision and he settled into monstrosity he concocted for himself ages ago. “Jim!” He blurted, wincing away from the bite coming toward him. “Jim, Jim, it’s me! It’s me, fuck, it’s me! I know you’re in there, come on!” 

Jim stopped, frowning again, grabbing his face and looking at him. They were so close now John could smell the blood on his breath, and see the recognition in his black eyes. Their lips brushed when, finally, he spoke. 

“Johnny boy…” It was a lilting growl, soft, yet it echoed through his bones. He nodded, only slightly less panicked now. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that, that’s right. That’s right, Jim… Did-- Were you at Baskerville? Eh? Is that, that what happened to you?” He looked in the direction he thought the facility was. 

“Ice Man!” Jim snarled, clawing the stone behind him, shooting up sparks John shied away from. 

“Did-- Mycroft? Mycroft did this to you? Why?” He frowned, searching the monstrous yet entirely human face that haunted him until this moment.

Jim growled again, dropping his gaze from John. “Hurt me. Watch...me, me s-suffer.” His voice was haggard and croaking when he spoke at normal volume, chilling when he whispered. “Make me pay. F-for Sherlock. For plane…” He grunted and shook his head dark hair curling against his brow all the more. “Stupid. Boring.” He looked at him again. “Kill me.” 

The soldier blinked at him, shaking his head. “No. No, I can’t--” 

“Would before,” he reminded, pressing against him. 

“That, that was different,” he swallowed. “There’s a difference between self defense and murder. I’m not murdering you.” He was blushing, knowing that Jim’s very naked body was pressed against his own partially-clad one. 

The cold tip of his nose slid along his hot cheek, swiftly followed by his tongue. “You’d be...killing-- monster.” He was pushing through whatever this was, fighting to speak coherently. 

A soft breath of a moan fell from John’s lips, and Jim smirked in return, immediately intrigued. “You’re, you’re not a monster, Jim. You’re a man. A man who’s had something terrible done to him. Let, let me help, let me--” 

“Remind me,” he purred, still smirking at him. He pressed against him more firmly, sliding his claws over his shoulders, across his nipples, down to his waistband. 

John was panting now, trying to ignore the stirring in his pants. “I-I- I’m not--” 

“Liar, liar…” He sang, one hand sliding to cup his hardening cock through his clothes. John moaned again, just like before. “See? You want it…” He licked his neck, sharp teeth nipping gently at his skin. “You like it…” He started massaging his cock, feeling it get harder and bigger in his hand. “Want Daddy’s attention…” 

A real moan left him this time and he couldn’t deny it. Lean, pale and standing like a marble statue in front of him, his eyes dripping with want, lips ripe and wetted, John wanted him. He wanted the claws and fangs and-- 

“Ah!” 

Jim bit him, just enough to draw blood, and was lapping it up from the bite, looking up at John with his satanic doe eyes. “Like?” 

He nodded, shaking with desire now and twisting his wrists in the binds. He wanted to touch him, he wanted that soft arse in his hands, he wanted to touch his cock… 

Jim was sliding his trousers and his pants down his legs while he fought to get free, the sharp slap the monster gave to his arse bringing him back. “Stay,” Jim ordered, spanking him again for good measure. 

John moaned helplessly, stilling. His cock was throbbing against his stomach, and he feared one touch would push him over the edge. 

Jim was on his knees now, admiring his physique, and his dick especially. He flicked his tongue, long and agile as it had become, at the base, just a teasing touch. “Not til Daddy says,” he warned, lifting one of John’s shapely legs over his shoulder, exposing the tight muscle there. 

“Wh-what are you doing? What--” Again his breath left him, Jim’s tongue laving over his hole. “Oh-oh fuck, oh fuck, oh my god…” He trembled, moaning loudly with each stroke and whimpering when he felt stubble rutting against him as well. Jim’s wicked eyes looked right up at him, watching him give himself over entirely. 

“Jim, Jim, this is-- Ohhh! Fuck!” Jim’s slicked, deft tongue slid inside of him, fucking him and writhing eagerly. He shuddered, going limp with the pleasure, his heart thundering hard. “Oh Christ, this is a fucking dream, there’s no way it’s, it’s this good. It’s too good, oh!” 

Jim snarled, sliding his tongue out after awhile, a shiver of pride coursing through him when John whined at the sudden emptiness. “Are you always such a whore, Johnny boy?” He asked, voice clearer now. 

He shook his head, trembling, cock leaking all over himself. “N-no. No, this is a-a first for me…” 

“Tell Daddy what you want,” he ordered, watching him steadily as he bit him again, sucking up the blood with as much diligence and personal pleasure as he’d had eating him out. 

“Ah! Fuck-- Fuck me! Fucking...oh god, just fuck me!” He begged, a growl in his voice brimming with desire, with passion. He wrapped his legs around Jim’s waist, pulling him closer and kissing him with force. 

Jim growled against his mouth, rocking their cocks together to make him whine. “Is it the danger?” He asked, black eyes glinting in the dark, tongue licking blood from his lethal teeth. “Or do you just dream of being fucked by me?” 

“Both,” he confessed, eyes hot and hungry. 

The monster grinned, pressing his cock against John’s slick hole. “Good.” 

A loud, unbridled sound left the doctor, Jim’s cock pressing into him and filling him in one hard thrust. He moaned right back at him and started to move, thrusting into him like a man starved, eyes staying on his face. 

John fought for another kiss, shuddering when he got it. Fire, smoke, apples, blood, gunpowder. Better than a dream, softer than he thought it would be, especially when he’d been so feral, so changed. His lips were silken, wet and passionate. He was flooded with Jim’s want for him, with his consuming nature and how...whole he now felt being fucked like this. 

Each thrust against his nerves sent white lights in front of his vision. His lips kissed whatever skin they could find and he whimpered when he found purchase on his mouth. That anger, that searching, that clawing for the right person, the right amount of danger and pleasure, the perfect fit to him that made him complete, was right here. All of it resolved or found in Jim. The puzzle piece that actually fit instead of jamming itself in there pretending to be right. Part of him hated to admit it. The other part was thrilled that this creature, now even more capable of murder and mayhem, was fucking him with such glee, such diligence and fervor that he nearly thought Jim might feel the same. 

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…” He chanted, face pressed into his throat. “Dr. Watson, you fit so well on my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said helplessly, rolling his body to meet his thrusts, muscles taut. “Fuck, yes, I do.” 

“Made just for me, weren’t you?” He breathed, fingers ghosting along his cock, a claw toying with his slit. He whimpered and nodded again. “You want to be Daddy’s forever, don’t you?” Another nod. 

Jim grinned, kissing him deeply, slowly stroking him in alternate time of his hips. 

“You, you’ve thought about this before,” John gasped, slightly hopeful he was right. Jim chuckled. 

“Wanted you since I first saw you…” He admitted, sucking on his earlobe, sharp teeth brushing against the sensitive flesh. “Wanted you all to myself…” 

“You have me!” He moaned. “Oh, fuck, you have me, you have me…” 

“You want to come?” He snarled, fucking him harder, mercilessly grinding into his prostate. John couldn’t breathe to speak, so he nodded, mouth open, cock throbbing. “You only come for Daddy now,” he breathed, licking into his parted lips. John moaned his agreement, practically sobbing with desire to just fucking come and make Daddy happy. Jim smiled against his mouth, dragging his sharp teeth along his lip. “Do it. Come for me.” 

He needn’t be told twice. 

He screamed in ecstasy, coming thickly and heavily across his and Jim’s stomach, entire body seizing to relish the moment. The tightened warmth was enough to make Jim shout and release deep within him, claws biting into the skin of his arse. 

John hummed greedily, panting. “M-making me yours?” He stammered, still half-hard. 

“You were mine when I brought you here,” he hissed, smirking at him. “Mine forever.” 

John’s wobbly legs touched the ground and Jim unhooked his bound hands, draping them around his neck. “See me again,” he breathed, an edge of a plea in his voice. 

“Just, just come back to London,” John offered. “Come back, we can fix this. We can find a way, Sherlock can find a way.” Jim shook his head, smiling, miming a gun next to his head. John shook his head right back. “Then I’ll beat the everloving fuck out of Mycroft until  _ he _ does something! You aren’t some beast, some monster, Jim, you’re…” 

“What you wanted,” he whispered, sliding hands down his chest and his back. 

“Yes. Yes, and I’m what you want, I don’t want to lose that! I know, I know this is fucked, and weird and sudden and too rushed but goddamnit, I’ve done this too many bloody times to lose it again. Come with me. Come back with me, Jim, please.” 

“And stay where? Looking like…” He gestured to himself. 

“There’s that apartment underneath us, the one you broke into? Stay there until we figure something out. Please.” 

Jim touched John’s cheek, fighting what the drugs and experiments had attempted to make him. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll...be there. Don’t...don’t forget.” 

“Here, untie me,” he said softly. Jim obliged, a little reluctantly. Once free, John slid the dog tags off his neck and draped them around Jim’s. “Don’t you forget either. Okay? We’ll...we’ll figure this out.” 

Jim was silent for a moment. “You care.”

“Yeah. I do,” he nodded. “I fucking do, and I know that’s a new concept for you, but it’s true, so don’t you fucking dare forget about that, or me, Jim Moriarty. You understand?” 

An inhuman, wicked smile spread over his face, and he greedily stole another kiss from him. “Understand, Captain,” he growled, slipping back into the shadows. 

“Catch you later,” John tried, smiling toward the dark. 

“...No you won’t!” Jim sang back. 

He laughed, gathering up his clothes and staggering outside, covered in come and sweat, and actually even more eager to get home and put this fucking Hound business to rest. 

~*~ 

“I’ll figure it out, you know,” Sherlock said, pouting. John shook his head, pushing the door open and walking upstairs with his bag over his shoulder. 

“I’m telling you, Sherlock, nothing’s changed. Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said, going up to his bedroom. 

“It has! I know it, I’ll figure it out! I’m relentless, John, I won’t forget!” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re very clever,” John sighed and shut his door, turning when he heard a soft jangling. He grinned.

His dog tags were hanging from the knob. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't seem to get past the detective to reach the monster he's brought home, so Jim finds his own way to the good doctor instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sweet baby boy gets to start T and I know he wanted more to this :3 Congrats, Johnny<3

John hadn’t actually been able to see Jim since arriving back at 221B. Every chance he found something intervened. Something meaning Sherlock and his nose fucking arse. He never got past the first stair down before Sherlock was right behind him. The interrogation started then. Where was he going, what was doing, why he needed to go alone? The amount of impromptu shopping trips was becoming unnerving. 

He had managed to slip the tags under the basement door, signaling Jim that he was there, he knew he was down there and things would be alright. He hoped. 

It worried him greatly how long he might’ve gone without human interaction, and he’d seen firsthand what that had done to him back in the cave. Finally after five days he resolved to pass a note beneath the door, asking Jim to come and see him later tonight, but to be careful not to let Sherlock see him. It was silly to add, he knew that, but this was a ridiculous situation to begin with. 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock’s rumbling baritone sounded from behind him, causing him to jump and smack his head against the door. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” He grunted, rubbing his head. “I’m serious, I’m putting a bell on you. What the hell are you sneaking up on me for?” 

“I didn’t ‘sneak’ you didn’t hear,” he retorted. “You haven’t answered me.” 

“...I smelled something odd in my room. Thought it might be one of your experiments but it’s coming from down here.” 

“Oh. I’ll have Mrs. Hudson--” 

“No,” he said too quickly, too urgently. “No, er, it’s a dead rat or something like that, it’s nothing to concern her with. It’ll go away in a day or two.” 

Sherlock frowned at him, searching his face, detecting the lie but unsure what it was. “Is there something down there?” 

“What? How would I know? No one ever goes down there--” 

“I’ve caught you by this door half a dozen times now, John. You’re acting strange and now you’re lying to me. What’s down there?” 

“Nothing,” he said stiffly, glaring at him. “There is nothing down there. I told you what I was looking for.” 

Sherlock huffed and nudged John aside, taking the key to the basement from his pocket and shoving it into the lock. “Let’s just see then, hm? No harm in looking.” 

“Sherlock, what are you trying to prove?” His heart was beating faster, palms starting to sweat. Mycroft had to be looking for Jim already and if Sherlock found him now, looking like that… He didn’t know what either genius might do to the other and he really, really didn’t want to find out. Not like this, with Sherlock barging in, likely scaring the hell out of him. 

He’d never seen Moriarty afraid and he genuinely didn’t want to. 

“You’re lying, John. I don’t know why or what for, but I don’t like it. I think it best to put a stop to it now, don’t you?” He asked, shoving the door open. 

“Sherlock, wait--” 

The note was gone. The tags were too, but there was no sign of Jim, at least not in this initial sweep.

Sherlock frowned at the moldy, slightly bloody stink that came up the stairs, glancing at John. 

“Told you,” he shrugged. 

With pursed lips Sherlock descended the stairs very quickly, being sure to get ahead of John. 

But there was nothing. Nothing looked out of place from the last time they were here. Not a shadow, not a quiver of movement, absolutely no sign of Jim at all whatsoever. The note was gone, though, he had to be here...somewhere… Didn’t he?

“See? Nothing down here but a stink. Can we go now?” John sighed, watching Sherlock whip his head around so fast his curls seemed to have a mind of their own. 

He turned, clearly disappointed and confused, and stalked back upstairs. There was some shuffling before the door slammed. Sherlock quit the place altogether and went to pout somewhere. John rolled his eyes, taking a careful look around. 

“Jim?” He whispered, brow pinched. Nothing answered him, and now he was even more concerned. He sighed, dejected, and went back upstairs to write about Sherlock’s current case and try very hard not to call him a massive fucking baby too paranoid for his own good. 

Or at least make it sound just a little nicer.

~*~

Sherlock returned and behaved as if nothing had happened, babbling about perfume and pine needles and going to the kitchen to work and talk to himself for what John could guess would be about four hours. No need to listen to all of it, especially when Sherlock’s rapid mumbling often lulled him right to sleep. 

“I’m having a bath, so don’t try and barge in,” he announced to deaf ears, looking for any shift in his expression. He didn’t find one. 

Bath drawn, body soaking, doors locked, John let out a soft sigh. He pushed his wet hair back out of his face, arms resting on the sides of the tub while he tipped his head back. 

Jim had vanished in a matter of seconds. It worried John, knowing firsthand what Jim was capable of, human or no. Each time the bell sounded or Sherlock’s phone pinged he waited to hear about people being torn apart in bizarre animal attacks. That’s the last thing either of them needed, a giddy investigation from Sherlock while Jim attempted to settle in. 

Unless he’d been frightened off already and disappeared forever.

“God, where are you?” He breathed, eyes shut. 

He thought he felt something shift in the water, something change the temperature a little, displace the air around him. Then he felt something cold touch his leg and he sat up fast, mouth open to cry out when a clawed, wet hand clamped over his mouth. 

“Mm?!” 

“Shh…” 

Jim was grinning at him, evermore strikingly terrifying in real light. His fangs had settled into his mouth better, the smallest bit of white around his black irises. His hair was wet and clinging to his forehead in gentle curls, skin still so pale. He did notice patches of white scales glittering on his flesh, soft and smooth, like those on a fish. 

He slowly allowed his fingers to slip away gently tracing John’s lips and regarding him with a predatory look that made him shiver. 

“Where the hell were you? And how did you get in, in the water with me?” He whispered. 

He shrugged, smile pleasant, even sweet. “Note said meet you tonight, avoid Sherlock. I did.” His voice was low and soft with that edge of inhuman rattle that engulfed him like a gentle flame. He cleared his throat to clear his head.

“Yeah, you did. Scared the shit out of me,” he chuckled, gently touching his cheek. “Are you alright? I, I was worried about you.” 

“Fine. Listening to you talk through...floor-- No, ceiling.” He forced the words out, inclined to not speak at all and nuzzled him gently to prove that. “Miss me?” 

“Course I did. Told you I was worried sick. When Sherlock went down those stairs I was so sure he was going to find you and…” 

“‘M fast,” Jim mumbled, kissing and nipping John’s throat almost impatiently. 

“I, I gather that…” They were both stark naked, pressed against each other and while John was shy about his arousal, Jim was not. He growled softly in John’s ear, rutting his hips against his leg and pressing his own between John’s legs, to feel him. “Oh, god,” he shivered, gripping the sides of the tub hard. He allowed Jim to claim his mouth, parting his lips with his incredible tongue and stealing his breath away. 

“Shh...quiet for Daddy…” He purred, grinning at him. John nodded, whining softly when Jim clamped his hand over his mouth and began to toy with his cock. 

One claw on his first finger circled his head. A gentle, lazy movement with just enough pressure to make sure he felt it. Hungry black eyes locked onto his while the claw teased his slit, the tip slowly pressing in and out, fucking it. John writhed a little, toes curling against the porcelain while he forced himself not to moan as loud as he wished. His hips rocked a little, breaths quick and deep. He moaned loudly against his hand when Jim’s slippery, hot tongue found each nipple and proceeded to tease, lap and flick against his skin to drive him wild. 

His chest flushed deeper and deeper, desperately trying to keep his arousal under control and not come without permission. He had a feeling if he did Jim would make him come until he was bone dry - though that didn't sound like such a bad idea...

The heat of Jim’s tongue was gone from his chest, hand falling from his mouth as Jim slipped under the water and wrapped his beautiful lips around his aching cock. He bit his fist to keep quiet, the tip of Jim’s tongue flicking inside his slit, fucking it deep while claws nicked and teased his hole. 

“Oh fuck, oh god,” he shuddered. “Yes, oh god, Daddy I-I’m, I’m coming I can’t--” 

He filled Jim’s lips with come, scrambling to hold himself upright when he lifted his hips from the water so John could see him clearly suck down each and every drop, then lick drops of water from his groin and his sac. Jim smiled. 

“Still hard.” 

John nodded fast. “You, you do that to me,” he stammered. 

Slowly, Jim set him down in the water again, creeping up his body until he was straddling his chest, cock just inches from John’s lips. “Show Daddy how much you like it,” he breathed. 

He didn’t need any further permission than that. In one swift motion John had one arm hooked under Jim’s leg, the other holding tight to his arse while he took down as much of his cock as he could take. He was a little out of practice, having not been with a man since his time in the Army, but he quickly remembered what was needed, and what he was very, very good at. 

Jim was panting, dazed, a tight fist in John’s hair while he began to fuck his lips. His lashes fluttered with want, whining around the thickness and opening his throat as far as he could to accommodate his desire. 

John’s nimble fingers gently started to tease Jim’s hole, a satisfied smirk finding his mouth when goosebumps covered his flesh. The more John teased, the more he realized Jim was getting wetter on his own. His fingers slid in faster and far more easily than they would have on anyone else, but Jim was hot, slick and made ready for him by his own juices. 

He grunted when John turned him around, gripping the tub in tight hands when his tongue found his slicked hole. “John!” He squeaked, biting his lip while the doctor’s greedy mouth sucked him  diligently. 

Twisting his inhuman form so his legs were resting on the porcelain, the rest of him dipped under water and latched onto John’s sac, rolling his tongue over them beneath the water, no need to breathe at all whatsoever apparently. 

His body arched and prone John took advantage of every angle and pleasurable spot he could. He sucked on his hole and his perineum while his fingers gently stroked him. He kissed and teased his balls, let him fuck his throat some more and risked one good slap to his pert little arse. 

Jim melted like butter beneath him, claws and tongue fucking John’s hole until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He shifted his lithe, pale body and turned so he was facing John head on, lowering his hips onto his cock with a low snarl. Swollen lips clashed against each other and John began fucking him just as fast as he could. 

He was desperate to have it rough, for his fluids to drip down his skin, to watch him come undone like this on his cock. It was absolutely beautiful to behold and he could hardly breathe watching him. Somehow Sherlock didn’t hear a thing. 

Water sloshed onto the floor, snarls and growls falling from their mouths, John’s lips bleeding from Jim’s teeth. They were coming apart at the seams, their releases bursting from each other without warning, but it wasn’t needed. 

John was shaking, buzzing with pleasure and stroking along Jim’s skin, holding him close. He slid fingers through his hair, up and down his back, feeling his heart thrum against his chest. “I want you to sleep in my bed with me tonight,” he whispered. “I want to wake up holding you.” 

Jim softened, looking at him with something like shyness. “Okay,” he agreed, pressing his face into his chest. 

“And next time we do this? Let’s take our time. I...I really liked this but I, I want to show you how I feel. Slowly.” 

Again Jim nodded, smiling a little. “Slowly.” 

John cupped his neck and thumbed his skin, the chain for his tags rolling under his thumb.


End file.
